Reason to Get Up in the Morning

Saturday was gray. Friday was gray, too. Pouring rain with Washington, DC-style heaviness and humidity.

The weather mirrored my mood. Now that I had met the deadline for the July 26 event my adrenalin glands had returned to standby mode. There was no urgency, nothing do and nothing really that I had to do. This gave me time to brood about the upcoming anniversary. It’s been almost a year to the day since I left the office for good, then packed up a DC-area life of 41 years and moved to North Carolina.

Before I retired, I said I couldn’t wait to smash the alarm clock. It went off too early and too often.

Yet, I never smashed it. Maybe because the clock had been my ally and protector. Faithful to the end, the clock helped me show up and earn a living. That daily shock to my auditory senses reminded me that I had good reason to get up in the morning – salary and benefits, notably that health plan for four that saved the day so many times.

No alarm – not even from my clever smartphone – awakened me to Saturday’s gloom. No canine backup either. As our dog gets longer in the tooth (actually, shorter as they wear down) she seems to savor her morning lie in.

So, I awoke on my own with no compelling reason to get up except to continue to brood about the approaching anniversary.

My mother calls this behavior a “pity party.” I was throwing a big one with no expected guests.

Earlier in the week, I posted a “Throwback Thursday” photo on Facebook. It shows my former commute -- the glorious bicycle ride to work that took me alongside the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool and across the National Mall.

The photo earned several “Likes.” One friend (full disclosure: she is a behavioral psychologist and is moving to a new home with her newly retired husband) asked two questions:  “Would you go back? What’s your assessment a year later?”

Good questions.

No, I wouldn’t go back. Heck, I live near Thomas Wolfe’s hometown. You can’t go home again. You can’t un-retire. Okay, some people do. I saw many who came back to government reincarnated as contractors. I called them blue badges. Under the color-coded badge system you always knew who they were. They traded green badges and offices for blue badges and cubicles. I never wanted to be one of them. (Thankfully, I don’t need to.)

For me, it was time to leave, for my husband and to make way for ducklings, younger people to have my slot in the full-time workforce. I was also blessed with the ability to get out near the top of my game. What a gift.

So, no, I wouldn’t go back.  But, as I say on my LinkedIn page I am receptive to interesting projects (that do not require sitting in a cubicle).

Even without the morning alarm, I still act like an employed person. I make to-do lists and enjoy crossing off completed tasks. Psychology friends, is that in the DSM?  Listophrenia? Or, perhaps it’s a symptom of retirement affective disorder or dissociative career disorder.

But, the psychologist’s more thoughtful – and serious – question is the second one about the one-year assessment.

That’s harder. It brings me back to those non-alarming mornings, except when my smartphone shrieks a call to action for an early medical appointment.

The biggest difference and the biggest challenge for me, and for, say, a million other boomers, is having a reason to get up in the morning.  

I am not alone in needing a reason to get up. Just do a Google search of “retirement” and “reason to get up in the morning.”

I’d read about this before retirement, notably in Ralph Warner’s great book Get a Life: You Don’t Need a Million to Retire Well (See Oct. 3, 2013, blog post).

Reading ahead is one thing. Experiencing is another. Most of us are wired to be productive and contributing and connected. That’s why Warner wrote about the absolute importance of family, new friends, activities, and curiosity.  The biggest leveler:  good health. You need it.

One year in, I’m working to maintain connections with family – I’ve been to California twice, Texas once, and have and will travel for my mishpochas and friends. Here, I’ve got some budding friendships – it helps to get involved in something where you share an interest, like progressive politics. I love being active and, fortunately, can still bike the hills here.

Even so, Saturday was gray and gloomy. It happens. As I was making my way out of the pity party, I called one dear friend and recalled – again – the advice of another, one who consumes pages in my address book. She had said give it two years to feel at home.

Okay, Facebook questioner, I truly miss my DC connections, but I’m taking a pass on answering just yet. Ask me next year. That’s when I’ll seek your one-year assessment and give you my two-year update.

 

Home sweet home